
Class _EE_ili£i_ 
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PRESS CUTTINGS 

A TOPICAL SKETCH FROM THE 

EDITORIAL AND CORRESPONDENCE 

COLUMNS OF THE DAILY PRESS 



By 



BERNARD SHAW * 



H 




NEW YORK 

BRENTANO'S 
1913 



wO 



XI r 






Copv 2» 



Copyright, 1911, by Brentano's 



Copyright, 1911, by G. Bernard Shaw 



)CLA361161\. 
>1* * * 



PRESS CUTTINGS. 

The forenoon of the first of April, 1911. 

General Mitchener is at his writing table in the War 
Office, opening letters. On his left is the fireplace, with 
a fire burning. On his right, against the opposite wall is 
a standing desk with an office stool. The door is in the 
wall behind him, half way between the table and the desk. 
The table is not quite in the middle of the room: it is 
nearer to the hearthrug than to the desk. There is a 
chair at each end of it for persons having business with 
the general. There is a telephone on the table. Long 
silence. 

A Voice Outside. Votes for Women ! 

The General starts convulsively; snatches a revolver 
from a drawer, and listens in an agony of apprehension. 
Nothing happens. He puts the revolver back, ashamed; 
wipes his brow; and resumes his work. He is startled 
afresh by the entry of an Orderly. This Orderly is an 
unsoldierly , slovenly, discontented young man. 

Mitchener. Oh, it's only you. Well? 

The Orderly. Another one, sir. Shes chained 
herself. 

Mitchener. Chained herself? How? To what? 
Weve taken away the railings and everything that a 
chain can be passed through. 

The Orderly. We forgot the doorscraper, sir. She 
laid down on the flags and got the chain through before 
she started hollerin. Shes lying there now; and she 
says that youve got the key of the padlock in a letter 



4 Press Cuttings 

in a buff envelope, and that you will see her when you 
open it. 

Mitchener. Shes mad. Have the scraper dug up 
and let her go home with it hanging round her neck. 

The Orderly. Theres a buff envelope there, sir. 

Mitchener. Youre all afraid of these women (pick- 
ing the letter up). It does seem to have a key in it. 
(He opens the letter, and takes out a key and a note.) 
"Dear Mitch "—Well, I'm dashed! 

The Orderly. Yes sir. 

Mitchener. What do you mean by Yes sir ? 

The Orderly. Well, you said you was dashed, sir; 
and you did look if youll excuse my saying it, Sir — well, 
you looked it. 

Mitchener (who has been reading the letter, and is 
too astonished to attend to the Orderly s reply). This 
is a letter from the Prime Minister asking me to release 
the woman with this key if she padlocks herself, and to 
have her shown up and see her at once. 

The Orderly (tremulously). Dont do it, governor. 

Mitchener (angrily). How often have I ordered 
you not to address me as governor. Remember that you 
are a soldier and not a vulgar civilian. Remember also 
that when a man enters the army he leaves fear behind 
him. Heres the key. Unlock her and show her up. 

The Orderly. Me unlock her! I dursent. Lord 
knows what she'd do to me. 

Mitchener (pepperily, rising). Obey your orders 
instantly, Sir, and dont presume to argue. Even if she 
kills you, it is your duty to die for your country. Right 
about face. March. (The Orderly goes out, trembling.) 

The Voice Outside. Votes for Women! Votes for 
Women ! Votes for Women ! 

Mitchener (mimicking her). Votes for Women! 
Votes for Women! Votes for Women! (in his natural 
voice) Votes for children! Votes for babies! Votes 



Press Cuttings 5 

for monkeys ! (He posts himself on the hearthrug, and 
awaits the enemy.) 

The Orderly (outside). In you go. (He pushes a 
panting Suffraget into the room.) The person sir. (He 
withdraws.) 

The Suffraget takes off her tailor made skirt and re- 
veals a pair of fashionable trousers. 

Mitchener (horrified). Stop, madam. What are 
you doing? You must not undress in my presence. I 
protest. Not even your letter from the Prime Minister — 

The Suffraget. My dear Mitchener: I am the 
Prime Minister. (He tears off his hat and cloak; throws 
them on the desk; and confronts the General in the ordi- 
nary costume of a Cabinet minister.) 

Mitchener. Good heavens ! Balsquith ! 

Balsquith (throwing himself into Mitchener 9 s chair). 
Yes: it is indeed Balsquith. It has come to this: that 
the only way that the Prime Minister of England can get 
from Downing Street to the War Office is by assuming 
this disguise; shrieking "VOTES for Women"; and 
chaining himself to your doorscraper. They were at the 
corner in force. They cheered me. Bellachristina her- 
self was there. She shook my hand and told me to say I 
was a vegetarian, as the diet was better in Holloway for 
vegetarians. 

Mitchener. Why didnt you telephone? 

Balsquith. They tap the telephone. Every switch- 
board in London is in their hands or in those of their 
young men. 

Mitchener. Where on Earth did you get that dress? 

Balsquith. I stole it from a little Exhibition got up 
by my wife in Downing Street. 

Mitchener. You dont mean to say its a French 
dress ? 

Balsquith. Great Heavens, no. My wife isnt al- 
lowed even to put on her gloves with French chalk. 



6 Press Cuttings 

Everything labelled Made in Camberwell. She advised 
me to come to you. And what I have to say must be said 
here to you personally, in the most intimate confidence, 
with the most urgent persuasion. Mitchener: Sandstone 
has resigned. 

Mitchener {amazed). Old Red resigned! 

Balsquith. Resigned. 

Mitchener. But how? Why? Oh, impossible! the 
proclamation of martial law last Tuesday made Sand- 
stone virtually Dictator in the metropolis, and to resign 
now is flat desertion. 

Balsquith. Yes, yes, my dear Mitchener ; I know all 
that as well as you do: I argued with him until I was 
black in the face and he so red about the neck that if I 
had gone on he would have burst. He is furious because 
we have abandoned his plan. 

Mitchener. But you accepted it unconditionally. 

Balsquith. Yes, before we knew what it was. It 
was unworkable, you know. 

Mitchener. I dont know. Why is it unworkable? 

Balsquith. I mean the part about drawing a cordon 
round Westminster at a distance of two miles ; and turn- 
ing all women out of it. 

Mitchener. A masterpiece of strategy. Let me ex- 
plain. The Suffragets are a very small body; but they 
are numerous enough to be troublesome — even dangerous 
— when they are all concentrated in one place — say in 
Parliament Square. But by making a two-mile radius 
and pushing them beyond it, you scatter their attack over 
a circular line twelve miles long. A superb piece of 
tactics. Just what Wellington would have done. 

Balsquith. But the women wont go. 

Mitchener. Nonsense: they must go, 

Balsquith. They wont. 

Mitchener. What does Sandstone say? 

Balsquith. He says: Shoot them down. 



Press Cuttings 7 

Mitchener. Of course. 

Balsquith. Youre not serious? 

Mitchener. Im perfectly serious. 

Balsquith. But you cant shoot them down! Wom- 
en, you know! 

Mitchener (straddling confidently). Yes you can. 
Strange as it may seem to you as a civilian, Balsquith, 
if you point a rifle at a woman and fire it, she will drop 
exactly as a man drops. 

Balsquith. But suppose your own daughters — Helen 
and Georgina. 

Mitchener. My daughters would not dream of dis- 
obeying the proclamation. (As an after thought.) At 
least Helen wouldnt. 

Balsquith. But Georgina? 

Mitchener. Georgina would if she knew shed be 
shot if she didnt. Thats how the thing would work. 
Military methods are really the most merciful in the end. 
You keep sending these misguided women to Holloway 
and killing them slowly and inhumanly by ruining their 
health ; and it does no good : they go on worse than ever. 
Shoot a few, promptly and humanly; and there will be 
an end at once of all resistance and of all the suffering 
that resistance entails. 

Balsquith. But public opinion would never stand it. 

Mitchener (walking about and laying down the law). 
Theres no such thing as public opinion. 

Balsquith. No such thing as public opinion ! ! 

Mitchener. Absolutely no such thing as public opin- 
ion. There are certain persons who entertain certain 
opinions. Well, shoot them down. When you have shot 
them down, there are no longer any persons entertain- 
ing those opinions alive: consequently there is no longer 
any more of the public opinion you are so much afraid 
of. Grasp that fact, my dear Balsquith; and you have 
grasped the secret of government. Public opinion is 



8 Press Cuttings 

mind. Mind is inseparable from matter. Shoot down 
the matter and you kill the mind. 

Balsquith. But hang it all 

Mitchener (intolerantly). No I wont hang it all. 
It's no use coming to me and talking about public opin- 
ion. You have put yourself into the hands of the army; 
and you are committed to military methods. And the 
basis of all military methods is that when people wont 
do what they are told to do, you shoot them down. 

Balsquith. Oh, yes; it's all jolly fine for you 
and Old Red. You dont depend on votes for your 
places. What do you suppose will happen at the next 
election ? 

Mitchener. Have no next election. Bring in a Bill 
at once repealing all the reform Acts and vesting the 
Government in a properly trained magistracy respon- 
sible only to a Council of War. It answers perfectly in 
India. If anyone objects, shoot him down. 

Balsquith. But none of the members of my party 
would be on the Council of War. Neither should I. Do 
you expect us to vote for making ourselves nobodies? 

Mitchener. You'll have to, sooner or later, or the 
Socialists will make nobodies of the lot of you by collar- 
ing every penny you possess. Do you suppose this 
damned democracy can be allowed to go on now that the 
mob is beginning to take it seriously and using its power 
to lay hands on property? Parliament must abolish 
itself. The Irish parliament voted for its own extinc- 
tion. 

The English parliament will do the same if the same 
means are taken to persuade it. 

Balsquith. That would cost a lot of money. 

Mitchener. Not money necessarily. Bribe them 
with titles. 

Balsquith. Do you think we dare? 

Mitchener (scornfully). Dare! Dare! What is 



Press Cuttings 9 

life but daring, man? " To dare, to dare, and again to 
dare " 

Woman's Voice Outside. Votes for Women! 

Mitchener, revolver in hand, rushes to the door and 
locks it. Balsquith hides under the table. 

A shot is heard. 

Balsquith (emerging in the greatest alarm). Good 
heavens, you havent given orders to fire on them have 
you? 

Mitchener. No; but its a sentinel's duty to fire on 
anyone who persists in attempting to pass without giv- 
ing the word. 

Balsquith (wiping his brow). This military busi- 
ness is really awful. 

Mitchener. Be calm, Balsquith. These things must 
happen; they save bloodshed in the long run, believe 
me. Ive seen plenty of it; and I know. 

Balsquith. I havent; and I dont know. I wish 
those guns didnt make such a devil of a noise. We must 
adopt Maxim's Silencer for the army rifles if we are 
going to shoot women. I really couldnt stand hear- 
ing it. 

Some one outside tries to open the door and then 
knocks. 

Mitchener and Balsquith. Whats that? 

Mitchener. Whos there? 

The Orderly. It's only me, governor. Its all 
right. 

Mitchener (unlocking the door and admitting the 
Orderly, who comes between them). What was it? 

The Orderly. Suffraget, Sir. 

Balsquith. Did the sentry shoot her? 

The Orderly. No, Sir: she shot the sentry. 

Balsquith (relieved). Oh: is that all? 

Mitchener (most indignantly). All? A civilian 
shoots down one of His Majesty's soldiers on duty; and 



10 Press Cuttings 

the Prime Minister of England asks Is that all? Have 
you no regard for the sanctity of human life? 

Balsquith (much relieved). Well, getting shot is 
what a soldier is for. Besides, he doesnt vote. 

Mitchener. Neither do the Suffragets. 

Balsquith. Their husbands do. (To the Orderly.") 
By the way, did she kill him? 

The Orderly. No, Sir. He got a stinger on his 
trousers, Sir; but it didnt penetrate. He lost his tem- 
per a bit and put down Hs gun and clouted her head 
for her. So she said he was no gentleman; and we let 
her go, thinking she'd had enough, Sir. 

Mitchener (groaning). Clouted her head! These 
women are making the army as lawless as them- 
selves. Clouted her head indeed! A purely civil 
procedure. 

The Orderly. Any orders, Sir? 

Mitchener. No. Yes. No. Yes: send everybody 
who took part in this disgraceful scene to the guard- 
room. No. Ill address the men on the subject after 
lunch. Parade them for that purpose — full kit. Don't 
grin at me, Sir. Right about face. March. (The 
Orderly obeys and goes out.) 

Balsquith (taking Mitchener affectionately by the 
arm and walking him persuasively to and fro). And 
now, Mitchener, will you come to the rescue of the Gov- 
ernment and take the command that Old Red has 
thrown up? 

Mitchener. How can I? You know that the peo- 
ple are devoted heart and soul to Sandstone. He is only 
bringing you " on the knee," as we say in the army. 
Could any other living man have persuaded the British 
nation to accept universal compulsory military service 
as he did last year? Why, even the Church refused 
exemption. He is supreme — omnipotent. 

Balsquith. He was, a year ago. But ever since 



Press Cuttings 11 

your book of reminiscences went into two more editions 
than his, and the rush for it led to the wrecking of the 
Times Book Club, you have become to all intents and 
purposes his senior. He lost ground by saying that the 
wrecking was got up by the booksellers. It showed 
jealousy: and the public felt it. 

Mitchener. But I cracked him up in my book — 
you see I could do no less after the handsome way he 
cracked me up in his — and I cant go back on it now. 
{Breaking loose from Balsquith.) No: its no use, 
Balsquith: he can dictate his terms to you. 

Balsquith. Not a bit of it. That affair of the 
curate 

Mitchener {impatiently). Oh, damn that curate. 
Ive heard of nothing but that wretched mutineer for a 
fortnight past. He is not a curate: whilst he is serving 
in the army he is a private soldier and nothing else. I 
really havent time to discuss him further. Im busy. 
Good morning. {He sits down at his table and takes 
up his letters.) 

Balsquith {near the door). I am sorry you take 
that tone, Mitchener. Since you do take it, let me tell 
you frankly that I think Lieutenant Chubbs-Jenkinson 
showed a great want of consideration for the Govern- 
ment in giving an unreasonable and unpopular order, 
and bringing compulsory military service into disrepute. 
When the leader of the Labor Party appealed to me 
and to the House last year not to throw away all the lib- 
erties of Englishmen by accepting universal Compulsory 
military service without insisting on full civil rights for 
the soldier 

Mitchener. Rot. 

Balsquith. — I said that no British officer would be 
capable of abusing the authority with which it was abso- 
lutely necessary to invest him. 

Mitchener. Quite right. 



12 Press Cuttings 

Balsquith. That carried the House and carried the 
country 

Mitchener. Naturally. 

Balsquith. — And the feeling was that the Labor 
Party were soulless cads. 

Mitchener. So they are. 

Balsquith. And now comes this unmannerly young 
whelp Chubbs-Jenkinson, the only son of what they call 
a soda king, and orders a curate to lick his boots. And 
when the curate punches his head, you first sentence him 
to be shot; and then make a great show of clemency by 
commuting it to a flogging. What did you expect the 
curate to do? 

Mitchener (throwing down his pen and his letters 
and jumping up to confront Balsquith). His duty 
was perfectly simple. He should have obeyed the order; 
and then laid his complaint against the officer in proper 
form. He would have received the fullest satisfaction. 

Balsquith. What satisfaction? 

Mitchener. Chubbs-Jenkinson would have been rep- 
rimanded. In fact, he was reprimanded. Besides, the 
man was thoroughly insubordinate. You cant deny that 
the very first thing he did when they took him down 
after flogging him was to walk up to Chubbs-Jenkinson 
and break his jaw. That showed there was no use 
flogging him; so now he will get two years hard labor; 
and serve him right. 

Balsquith. I bet you a guinea he wont get even 
a week. I bet you another that Chubbs-Jenkinson 
apologizes abjectly. You evidently havent heard the 
news. 

Mitchener. What news? 

Balsquith. It turns out that the curate is well con- 
nected. (Mitchener staggers at the shock. Speechless 
he contemplates Balsquith with a wild and ghastly 
stare; then reels into his chair and buries his face in his 



Press Cuttings 13 

hands over the blotter. Balsquith continues remorse- 
lessly, stooping over him to rub it in.) He has three 
aunts in the peerage ; and Lady Richmond's one of them ; 
(Mitchener utters a heartrending groan) and they all 
adore him. The invitations for six garden parties and 
fourteen dances have been cancelled for all the subalterns 
in Chubbs's regiment. Is it possible you havent heard 
of it? 

Mitchener. Not a word. 

Balsquith (shaking his head). I suppose nobody 
dared to tell you. (He sits down carelessly on Mitch- 
ener' s right.) 

Mitchener. What an infernal young fool Chubbs- 
Jenkinson is, not to know the standing of his man bet- 
ter ! Why didnt he know ? It was his business to know. 
He ought to be flogged. 

Balsquith. Probably he will be, by the other sub- 
alterns. 

Mitchener. I hope so. Anyhow, out he goes ! Out 
of the army! He or I. 

Balsquith. His father has subscribed a million to 
the party funds. We owe him a peerage. 

Mitchener. I dont care. 

Balsquith. I do. How do you think parties are 
kept up? Not by the subscriptions of the local asso- 
ciations, I hope. They dont pay for the gas at the 
meetings. 

Mitchener. Man: can you not be serious? Here 
are we, face to face with Lady Richmond's grave dis- 
pleasure; and you talk to me about gas and subscrip- 
tions. Her own nephew. 

Balsquith (gloomily). Its unfortunate. He was at 
Oxford with Bobby Bassborough. 

Mitchener. Worse and worse. What shall we do? 

Balsquith shakes his head. They contemplate one 
another in miserable silence. 



14 Press Cuttings 

A Voice Without. Votes for Women! Votes for 
Women ! 

A terrific explosion shakes the building — they take 
no notice. 

Mitchener (breaking down). You dont know what 
this means to me, Balsquith. I love the army. I love 
my country. 

Balsquith. It certainly is rather awkward. 

The Orderly comes in. 

Mitchener (angrily). What is it? How dare you 
interrupt us like this? 

The Orderly. Didnt you hear the explosion, 
Sir? 

Mitchener. Explosion. What explosion? No: I 
heard no explosion: I have something more serious to 
attend to than explosions. Great Heavens: Lady Rich- 
mond's nephew has been treated like any common la- 
borer; and while England is reeling under the shock a 
private comes in and asks me if I heard an explosion. 

Balsquith. By the way, what was the explosion? 

The Orderly. Only a sort of bombshell, Sir. 

Balsquith. Bombshell ! 

The Orderly. A pasteboard one, Sir. Full of pa- 
pers with Votes for Women in red letters. Fired into 
the yard from the roof of the Alliance Office. 

Mitchener. Pooh! Go away. Go away. 

The Orderly, bewildered, goes out. 

Balsquith. Mitchener: you can save the country 
yet. Put on your full-dress uniform and your medals 
and orders and so forth. Get a guard of honor — some- 
thing showy — horse guards or something of that sort; 
and call on the old girl 

Mitchener. The old girl? 

Balsquith. Well, Lady Richmond. Apologize to 
her. Ask her leave to accept the command. Tell her 
that youve made the curate your adjutant or your aide- 



Press Cuttings 15 

de-camp or whatever is the proper thing. By the way, 
what can you make him? 

Mitchener. I might make him my chaplain. 
I dont see why I shouldnt have a chaplain on my 
staff. He showed a very proper spirit in punching 
that young cub's head. I should have done the same 
myself. 

Balsquith. Then Ive your promise to take com- 
mand if Lady Richmond consents? 

Mitchener. On condition that I have a free hand. 
No nonsense about public opinion or democracy. 

Balsquith. As far as possible, I think I may say 
yes. 

Mitchener {rising intolerantly and going to the 
hearthrug'). That wont do for me. Dont be weak- 
kneed^ Balsquith. You know perfectly well that the real 
government of this country is and always must be the 
government of the masses by the classes. You know 
that democracy is damned nonsense, and that no class 
stands less of it than the working class. You know 
that we are already discussing the steps that will have 
to be taken if the country should ever be face to face 
with the possibility of a Labor majority in parliament. 
You know that in that case we should disfranchise the 
mob, and, if they made a fuss, shoot them down. You 
know that if we need public opinion to support us, we 
can get any quantity of it manufactured in our papers 
by poor devils of journalists who will sell their souls 
for five shillings. You know 

Balsquith. Stop. Stop, I say. I dont know. That 
is the difference between your job and mine, Mitchener. 
After twenty years in the army a man thinks he knows 
everything. After twenty months in the Cabinet he 
knows that he knows nothing. 

Mitchener. We learn from history 

Balsquith. We learn from history that men never 



16 Press Cuttings 

learn anything from history. Thats not my own: its 
Hegel. 

Mitchener. Whos Hegel? 

Balsquith. Dead. A German philosopher. {He 
half rises, but recollects something and sits down again.) 
Oh confound it: that reminds me. The Germans have 
laid down four more Dreadnoughts. 

Mitchener. Then you must lay down twelve. 

Balsquith. Oh yes: its easy to say that: but think 
of what theyll cost. 

Mitchener. Think of what it would cost to be in- 
vaded by Germany and forced to pay an indemnity of 
five hundred millions. 

Balsquith. But you said that if you got compulsory 
military service there would be an end of the danger of 
invasion. 

Mitchener. On the contrary, my dear fellow, it in- 
creases the danger tenfold, because it increases German 
jealousy of our military supremacy. 

Balsquith. After all, why should the Germans in- 
vade us ? 

Mitchener. Why shouldnt they? What else has 
their army to do? What else are they building a navy 
for? 

Balsquith. Well, we never think of invading 
Germany. 

Mitchener. Yes we do. I have thought of nothing 
else for the last ten years. Say what you will, Balsquith, 
the Germans have never recognized, and until they get 
a stern lesson, they never will recognize, the plain fact 
that the interests of the British Empire are paramount, 
and that the command of the sea belongs by nature to 
England. 

Balsquith. But if they wont recognize it, what 
can I do? 

Mitchener. Shoot them down. 



Press Cuttings 17 

Balsquith. I cant shoot them down. 

Mitchener. Yes you can. You dont realize it; but 
if you fire a rifle into a German he drops just as surely 
as a rabbit does. 

Balsquith. But dash it all, man, a rabbit hasnt got 
a rifle and a German has. Suppose he shoots you down. 

Mitchener. Excuse me, Balsquith; but that consid- 
eration is what we call cowardice in the army. A soldier 
always assumes that he is going to shoot, not to be shot. 

Balsquith (jumping up and walking about sulkily). 
Oh come! I like to hear you military people talking of 
cowardice. Why, you spend your lives in an ecstasy of 
terror of imaginary invasions. I dont believe you ever 
go to bed without looking under it for a burglar. 

Mitchener (calmly). A very sensible precaution, 
Balsquith. I always take it. And in consequence Ive 
never been burgled. 

Balsquith. Neither have I. Anyhow dont you 
taunt me with cowardice. (He posts himself on the 
hearthrug beside Mitchener on his left.) I never look 
under my bed for a burglar. Im not always looking 
under the nation's bed for an invader. And if it comes 
to fighting Im quite willing to fight without being three 
to one. 

Mitchener. These are the romantic ravings of a 
Jingo civilian, Balsquith. At least youll not deny that 
the absolute command of the sea is essential to our 
security. 

Balsquith. The absolute command of the sea is es- 
sential to the security of the principality of Monaco. 
But Monaco isnt going to get it. 

Mitchener. And consequently Monaco enjoys no se- 
curity. What a frightful thing! How do the inhabi- 
tants sleep with the possibility of invasion, of bombard- 
ment, continually present to their minds? Would you 
have our English slumbers broken in the same way? 



18 Press Cuttings 

Are we also to live without security? 

Balsquith (dogmatically). Yes. Theres no such 
thing as security in the world: and there never can be as 
long as men are mortal. England will be secure when 
England is dead, just as the streets of London will be 
safe when there is no longer a man in her streets to be 
run over, or a vehicle to run over him. When you mili- 
tary chaps ask for security you are crying for the moon. 

Mitchener (very seriously). Let me tell you, Bals- 
quith, that in these days of aeroplanes and Zeppelin air- 
ships, the question of the moon is becoming one of the 
greatest importance. It will be reached at no very dis- 
tant date. Can you as an Englishman, tamely contem- 
plate the posssibility of having to live under a German 
moon? The British flag must be planted there at all 
hazards. 

Balsquith. My dear Mitchener, the moon is outside 
practical politics. Id swop it for a coaling station to- 
morrow with Germany or any other Power sufficiently 
military in its way of thinking to attach any importance 
to it. 

Mitchener (losing his temper). You are the friend 
of every country but your own. 

Balsquith. Say nobodys enemy but my own. It 
sounds nicer. You really neednt be so horribly afraid 
of the other countries. Theyre all in the same fix as we 
are. Im much more interested in the death rate in Lam- 
beth than in the German fleet. 

Mitchener. You darent say that in Lambeth. 

Balsquith. Ill say it the day after you publish your 
scheme for invading Germany and repealing all the re- 
form Acts. 

The Orderly comes in. 

Mitchener. What do you want? 

The Orderly. I dont want anything, Governor, 
thank you. The secretary and president of the Anti- 



Press Cuttings 19 

Suffraget League say they had an appointment with the 
Prime Minister, and that theyve been sent on here from 
Downing Street. 

Balsquith (going to the table). Quite right. I for- 
got them. (To Mitchener.) Would you mind my see- 
ing them here? I feel extraordinarily grateful to these 
women for standing by us and facing the suffragets, 
especially as they are naturally the gentler and timid 
sort of women. (The Orderly moans.) Did you say 
anything ? 

The Orderly. No, Sir. 

Balsquith. Did you catch their names. 

The Orderly. Yes, Sir. The president is Lady 
Corinthia Fanshawe; and the secretary is Mrs. Banger. 

Mitchener (abruptly). Mrs. what? 

The Orderly. Mrs. Banger. 

Balsquith. Curious that quiet people always seem to 
have violent names. 

The Orderly. Not much quiet about her, sir. 

Mitchener (outraged). Attention. Speak when 
youre spoken to. Hold your tongue when youre not. 
Right about face. March. (The Orderly obeys.) Thats 
the way to keep these chaps up to the mark. (The Or- 
derly returns.) Back again! What do you mean by this 
mutiny ? 

The Orderly. What am I to say to the ladies, sir? 

Balsquith. You dont mind my seeing them some- 
where, do you? 

Mitchener. Not at all. Bring them in to see me 
when youve done with them: I understand that Lady 
Corinthia is a very fascinating woman. Who is she, by 
the way? 

Balsquith. Daughter of Lord Broadstairs, the auto- 
matic turbine man. Gave quarter of a million to the 
party funds. Shes musical and romantic and all that — 
dont hunt: hates politics: stops in town all the year 



20 Press Cuttings 

round: one never sees her anywhere except at the opera 
and at musical at-homes and so forth. 

Mitchener. What a life! Still, if she wants to see 
me I dont mind. {To the Orderly.) Where are the 
ladies ? 

The Orderly. In No. 17, Sir. 

Mitchener. Show Mr. Balsquith there. And send 
Mrs. Farrell here. 

The Orderly {calling into the corridor). Mrs. Far- 
rell! {To Balsquith.) This way sir. {He goes out with 
Balsquith.) 

Mrs. Farrell, a lean, highly respectable Irish Char- 
woman of about 50 comes in. 

Mitchener. Mrs. Farrell: Ive a very important 
visit to pay: I shall want my full dress uniform and all 
my medals and orders and my presentation sword. There 
was a time when the British Army contained men capable 
of discharging these duties for their commanding officer. 
Those days are over. The compulsorily enlisted soldier 
runs to a woman for everything. Im therefore reluc- 
tantly obliged to trouble you. 

Mrs Farrell. Your meddles n ordhers n the crooked 
sword with the ivory handle n your full dress uniform 
is in the waxworks in the Chamber o Military Glory 
over in the place they used to call the Banquetin Hall. 
I told you youd be sorry for sendin them away; n you 
told me to mind me own business. Youre wiser now. 

Mitchener. I am. I had not at that time discov- 
ered that you were the only person in the whole military 
establishment of this capital who could be trusted to re- 
member where anything was, or to understand an order 
and obey it. 

Mrs. Farrell. Its no good flattherin me. Im too 
old. 

Mitchener. Not at all, Mrs. Farrell. How is your 
daughter ? 



Press Cuttings 21 

Mrs. Farrell. Which daughther. 

Mitchener. The one who has made such a gratify- 
ing success in the Music Halls. 

Mrs. Farrell. Theres no music halls nowadays: 
theyre Variety Theatres. Shes got an offer of marriage 
from a young jook. 

Mitchener. Is it possible ? What did you do ? 

Mrs. Farrell. I told his mother on him. 

Mitchener. Oh! what did she say? 

Mrs. Farrell. She was as pleased as Punch. 
Thank Heaven, she says, hes got somebody thatll be 
able to keep him when the supertax is put up to twenty 
shillings in the pound. 

Mitchener. But your daughter herself? What did 
she say? 

Mrs. Farrell. Accepted him, of course. What else 
would a young fool like her do ? He inthroj ooced her to 
the Poet Laureate, thinking shed inspire him. 

Mitchener. Did she? 

Mrs. Farrell. Faith I dunna. All I know is she 
walked up to him as bold as brass n said " Write me a 
sketch, dear." Afther all the trouble I took with that 
childs manners shes no more notion how to behave her- 
self than a pig. Youll have to wear General Sandstones 
uniform: its the ony one in the place, because he wont 
lend it to the shows. 

Mitchener. But Sandstones clothes wont fit me. 

Mrs. Farrell (unmoved). Then youll have to fit 
them. Why shouldnt they fitcha as well as they fitted 
General Blake at the Mansion House ? 

Mitchener. They didnt fit him. He looked a 
frightful guy. 

Mrs. Farrell. Well, you must do the best you can 
with them. You cant exhibit your clothes and wear 
them too. 

Mitchener. And the public thinks the lot of a com- 



22 Press Cuttings 

manding officer a happy one ! Oh, if they could only see 
the seamy side of it. (He returns to his table to re- 
sume work.) 

Mrs. Farrell. If they could only see the seamy side 
of General Sandstones uniform, where his flask rubs 
agen the buckle of his braces, theyll tell him he ought 
to get a new one. Let alone the way he swears at me. 

Mitchener. When a man has risked his life on eight 
battlefields, Mrs. Farrell, he has given sufficient proof 
of his self-control to be excused a little strong language. 

Mrs. Farrell. Would you put up with bad language 
from me because Ive risked my life eight times in child- 
bed? 

Mitchener. My dear Mrs. Farrell, you surely would 
not compare a risk of that harmless domestic kind to the 
fearful risks of the battlefield? 

Mrs. Farrell. I wouldnt compare risks run to bear 
living people into the world to risks run to blow them 
out of it. A mother's risk is jooty: a soldier's nothin 
but divilmint. 

Mitchener (nettled). Let me tell you, Mrs. Farrell, 
that if the men did not fight, the women would have to 
fight themselves. We spare you that, at all events. 

Mrs. Farrell. You cant help yourselves. If three- 
quarters of you was killed we could replace you with 
the help of the other quarter. If three-quarters of us 
was killed, how many people would there be in England 
in another generation? If it wasnt for that, the mand 
put the fightin on us just as they put all the other 
dhrudgery. What would you do if we was all kilt? 
Would you go to bed and have twins? 

Mitchener. Really, Mrs. Farrell, you must discuss 
these questions with a medical man. You make me blush, 
positively. 

Mrs. Farrell. A good job too. If I could have 
made Farrell blush I wouldnt have had to risk me life to 



Press Cuttings v 23 

often. You n your risks n your bravery n your self- 
control indeed! "Why don't you conthrol yourself?" 
I sez to Farrell, " Its agen me religion/' he sez. 

Mitchener (plaintively). Mrs. Farrell, youre a 
woman of very powerful mind. Im not qualified to 
argue these delicate matters with you. I ask you to 
spare me, and to be good enough to take these clothes 
to Mr. Balsquith when the ladies leave. 

The Orderly comes in. 

The Orderly. Lady Corinthia Fanshawe and Mrs. 
Banger wish to see you, sir. Mr. Balsquith told me to 
tell you. 

Mrs. Farrell. Theyve come about the vote. I dont 
know whether its them that want it or them that doesnt 
want it: anyhow, they're all alike when they get into a 
state about it. (She goes out, having gathered Bals- 
quith's suffraget disguise from the desk.) 

Mitchener. Is Mr. Balsquith not with them? 

The Orderly. No, sir. Couldnt stand Mrs. Ban- 
ger, I expect. Fair caution she is. (He chuckles.) 
Couldnt help larfin when I sor im op it. 

Mitchener. How dare you indulge in this unseemly 
mirth in the presence of your commanding officer ? Have 
you no sense of a soldier's duty? 

The Orderly (sadly). Im afraid I shant ever get 
the ang of it, sir. You see my father has a tidy little 
barbers business down off Shoreditch ; and I was brought 
up to be chatty and easy like with everybody. I tell 
you, when I drew the number in the conscription it 
gave my old mother the needle and it gev me the ump. 
I should take it very kind, sir, if youd let me off the 
drill and let me shave you instead. Youd appreciate 
my qualities then: you would indeed sir. I shant never 
do myself justice at soljering, sir: I cant bring myself 
to think of it as proper work for a man with an active 
mind, as you might say, sir, Arf of its only ouse- 



24 Press Cuttings 

maidin; and the other arf is dress-up and make- 
believe. 

Mitchener. Stuff, sir. Its the easiest life in the 
world. Once you learn your drill all you have to do is 
to hold your tongue and obey your orders. 

The Orderly. But I do assure you, sir, arf the 
time they're the wrong orders; and I get into trouble 
when I obey them. The sergeants orders is all right; 
but the officers dont know what theyre talkin about. 
Why the orses knows better sometimes. " Fours " says 
Lieutenant Trevor at the gate of Bucknam Palace only 
this morning when we was on duty for a State visit to 
the Coal Trust. I was fourth man like in the first file; 
and when I started the orse eld back; and the sergeant 
was on to me straight. Threes, you bally fool, he whis- 
pers. And he was on to me again about it when we 
came back, and called me a fathead, he did. What am 
I to do, I says: the lieutenant's orders was fours, I says. 
Ill show you whos lieutenant here, e says. In future 
you attend to my orders and not to iz, e says: what 
does he know about it? You didnt give me any orders, 
I says. Couldnt you see for yourself there wasnt 
room for fours, e says: why cant you think? General 
Mitchener tells me Im not to think but to obey orders, 
I says. Is Mitchener your sergeant or am I, e says 
in his bullyin way. You are, I says. Well, he says, 
youve got to do what your sergeant tells you: thats 
discipline, he says. What am I to do for the Gen- 
eral I says. Youre to let im talk, e says: thats what 
es for. 

Mitchener (groaning). It is impossible for the hu- 
man mind to conceive anything more dreadful than this. 
Youre a disgrace to the service. 

The Orderly (deeply wounded) . The service is a 
disgrace to me. When my mother's people pass me in 
the street with this uniform on, I ardly know which 



Press Cuttings 25 

way to look. There never was a soldier in my family 
before. 

Mitchener. There never was anything else in mine, 
sir. 

The Orderly. My mother's second cousin was one 
of the Parkinsons of Stepney. (Almost in tears.) What 
do you know of the feelings of a respectable family in 
the middle station of life? I cant bear to be looked 
down on as a common soldier. Why cant my father be 
let buy my discharge? Youve done away with the sol- 
dier's right to have his discharge bought for him by 
his relations. The country didnt know you were going 
to do that or it would never have stood it. Is an Eng- 
lishman to be made a mockery like this? 

Mitchener. Silence. Attention. Right about face. 
March. 

The Orderly (retiring to the standing desk and be- 
dewing it with passionate tears). Oh that I should have 
lived to be spoke to as if I was the lowest of the low. 
Me! that has shaved a City of London aldermen wiv 
me own hand. 

Mitchener. Poltroon. Crybaby. Well, better dis- 
grace yourself here than disgrace your country on the 
field of battle. 

The Orderly (angrily coming to the table). Whos 
going to disgrace his country on the field of battle? Its 
not fightin I object to: its soljerin. Show me a Ger- 
man and 111 have a go at him as fast as you or any 
man. But to ave me time wasted like this, an be stuck 
in a sentry box at a street corner for an ornament to 
be stared at; and to be told " right about face: march " 
if I speak as one man to another: that aint pluck: that 
aint fightin: that aint patriotism: its bein made a 
bloomin sheep of. 

Mitchener. A sheep has many valuable military 
qualities. Emulate them: dont disparage them. 



26 Press Cuttings 

The Orderly. Oh, wots the good of talkin to you? 
If I wasnt a poor soldier I could punch your head for 
forty shillins for a month. But because youre my com- 
manding officer you deprive me of my right to a magis- 
trate and make a compliment of giving me two years ard 
sted of shootin me. Why cant you take your chance the 
same as any civilian does? 

Mitchener (rising majestically). I search the pages 
of history in vain for a parallel to such a speech made 
by a Private to a general. But for the coherence of your 
remarks I should conclude that you were drunk. As it 
is, you must be mad. You shall be placed under re- 
straint at once. Call the guard. 

The Orderly. Call your grandmother. If you take 
one man off the doors the place'U be full of Suffragets 
before you can wink. 

Mitchener. Then arrest yourself; and off with you 
to the guardroom. 

The Orderly. What am I to arrest myself for? 

Mitchener. Thats nothing to you. You have your 
orders: obey them. Do you hear? Right about face. 
March. 

The Orderly. How would you feel yourself if you 
was told to right-about-face and march as if you was a 
doormat ? 

Mitchener. I should feel as if my country had 
spoken through the voice of my officer. I should feel 
proud and honored to be able to serve my country by 
obeying its commands. No thought of self — no vulgar 
preoccupation with my own petty vanity could touch my 
mind at such a moment. To me my officer would not be a 
mere man: he would be for the moment — whatever his 
personal frailties — the incarnation of our national des- 
tiny. 

The Orderly. What Im saying to you is the voice 
of old England a jolly sight more than all this rot that 



Press Cuttings 27 

you get out of books. Id rather be spoke to by a ser- 
geant than by you. He tells me to go to hell when I 
challenges him to argue it out like a man. It aint po- 
lite; but its English. What you say aint anything at 
all. You dont act on it yourself. You dont believe in 
it. Youd punch my head if I tried it on you; and serve 
me right. And look here. Heres another point for you 
to argue. 

Mitchener (with a shriek of protest). No 

Mrs. Banger comes in, followed by Lady Corinthia 
Fanshawe. Mrs. Banger is a masculine woman of forty, 
with a powerful voice and great physical strength. 
Lady Corinthia, who is also over thirty, is beautiful and 
romantic. 

Mrs. Banger (throwing the door open decisively and 
marching straight to Mitchener). Pray how much longer 
is the Anti-Suffrage League to be kept waiting? (She 
passes him contemptuously and sits down with impressive 
confidence in the chair next the fireplace. Lady Corin- 
thia takes the chair on the opposite side of the table with 
equal aplomb.) 

Mitchener. Im extremely sorry. You really do 
not know what I have to put with. This imbecile, incom- 
petent, unsoldierly disgrace to the uniform he should 
never have been allowed to put on, ought to have shown 
you in fifteen minutes ago. 

The Orderly. All I said was 

Mitchener. Not another word. Attention. Right 
about face. March. (The Orderly sits down doggedly.) 
Get out of the room this instant, you fool, or 111 kick 
you out. 

The Orderly (civilly). I dont mind that, sir. Its 
human. Its English. Why couldnt you have said it 
before? (He goes out). 

Mitchener. Take no notice I beg: these scenes are 
of daily occurrence now that we have compulsory service 



28 Press Cuttings 

under the command of the halfpenny papers. Pray sit 
down. 

Lady Corinthia and Mrs. Banger (rising). Thank 
you. (They sit down again.) 

Mitchener (sitting down with a slight chuckle of 
satisfaction). And now, ladies, to what am I indebted? 

Mrs. Banger. Let me introduce us. I am Rosa 
Carmina Banger — Mrs. Banger, organizing secretary of 
the Anti-Suffraget League. This is Lady Corinthia Fan- 
shawe, the president of the League, known in musical 
circles — I am not myself musical — as the Richmond Park 
nightingale. A soprano. I am myself said to be almost 
a baritone ; but I do not profess to understand these dis- 
tinctions. 

Mitchener (murmuring politely). Most happy, Im 
sure. 

Mrs. Banger. We have come to tell you plainly that 
the Anti-Suffragets are going to fight. 

Mitchener (gallantly). Oh, pray leave that to the 
men, Mrs. Banger. 

Lady Corinthia. We can no longer trust the men. 

Mrs. Banger. They have shown neither the strength, 
the courage, nor the determination which are needed to 
combat women like the Suffragets. 

Lady Corinthia. Nature is too strong for the com- 
batants. 

Mrs. Banger. Physical struggles betweeen persons 
of opposite sexes are unseemly. 

Lady Corinthia. Demoralizing. 

Mrs. Banger. Insincere. 

Lady Corinthia. They are merely embraces in dis- 
guise. 

Mrs. Banger. No such suspicion can attach to com- 
bats in which the antagonists are of the same sex. 

Lady Corinthia. The Anti-Suffragets have resolved 
to take the field. 



Press Cuttings 29 

Mrs. Banger. They will enforce the order of Gen- 
eral Sandstone for the removal of all women from the 
two mile radius — that is, all women except themselves. 

Mitchener. I am sorry to have to inform you, 
Madam, that the Government has given up that project, 
and that General Sandstone has resigned in consequence. 

Mrs. Banger. That does not concern us in the least. 
We approve of the project and will see that it is carried 
out. We have spent a good deal of money arming our- 
selves; and we are not going to have that money thrown 
away through the pusillanimity of a Cabinet of males. 

Mitchener. Arming yourselves ! But, my dear 
ladies, under the latest proclamation women are strictly 
forbidden to carry chains, padlocks, tracts on the fran- 
chise, or weapons of any description. 

Lady Corinthia (producing an ivory-handled re- 
volver and pointing it at his nose). You little know your 
countrywomen, General Mitchener. 

Mitchener (without flinching). Madam: it is my 
duty to take possession of that weapon in accordance 
with the proclamation. Be good enough to put it 
down. 

Mrs. Banger (producing an XVIII century horse 
pistol). Is it your duty to take possession of this also? 

Mitchener. That, madam, is not a weapon; it is a 
curiosity. If you would be kind enough to place it in 
some museum instead of pointing it at my head, I should 
be obliged to you. 

Mrs. Banger. This pistol, sir, was carried at Water- 
loo by my grandmother. 

Mitchener. I presume you mean your grandfather. 

Mrs. Banger. You presume unwarrantably. 

Lady Corinthia. Mrs. Banger's grandmother com- 
manded a canteen at that celebrated battle. 

Mrs. Banger. Who my grandfather was is a point 
that has never been quite clearly settled. I put my trust 



30 Press Cuttings 

not in my ancestors, but in my good sword, which is at 
my lodgings. 

Mitchener. Your sword ! 

Mrs. Banger. The sword with which I slew five 
Egyptians with my own hand at Kassassin, where I 
served as a trooper. 

Mitchener. Lord bless me! But was your sex 
never discovered? 

Mrs. Banger. It was never even suspected. I had 
a comrade — a gentleman ranker — whom they called 
Fanny. They never called me Fanny. 

Lady Corinthia. The suffragets have turned the 
whole woman movement on to the wrong track. They 
ask for a vote. 

Mrs. Banger. What use is a vote ? Men have the vote. 

Lady Corinthia. And men are slaves. 

Mrs. Banger. What women need is the right to mili- 
tary service. Give me a well-mounted regiment of women 
with sabres, opposed to a regiment of men with votes. 
We shall see which will go down before the other. 
(rises) No: we have had enough of these gentle pretty 
creatures who merely talk and cross-examine ministers 
in police courts, and go to prison like sheep, and suffer 
and sacrifice themselves. This question must be solved 
by blood and iron, as was well said by Bismarck, whom 
I have reason to believe was a woman in disguise. 

Mitchener. Bismarck a woman? 

Mrs. Banger. All the really strong men of history 
have been disguised women. 

Mitchener (remonstrating). My dear lady! 

Mrs. Banger. How can you tell? You never knew 
that the hero of the charge at Kassassin was a woman: 
yet she was: it was I, Rosa Carmina Banger. Would 
Napoleon have been so brutal to women, think you, had 
he been a man? 

Mitchener. Oh, come, come! Really! Surely fe- 



Press Cuttings 31 

male rulers have often shown all the feminine weak- 
nesses. Queen Elizabeth, for instance. Her vanity, her 
levity. 

Mrs. Banger. Nobody who has studied the history 
of Queen Elizabeth can doubt for a moment that she was 
a disguised man. 

Lady Corinthia (admiring Mrs. Banger). Isnt she 
splendid ? 

Mrs. Banger (rising with a large gesture). This 
very afternoon I shall cast off this hampering skirt for 
ever; mount my charger; and with my good sabre lead 
the Anti-Suffragets to victory. (She strides to the other 
side of the room, snorting.) 

Mitchener. But I cant allow anything of the sort, 
madam. I shall stand no such ridiculous nonsense. Im 
perfectly determined to put my foot down. 

Lady Corinthia. Dont be hysterical, General. 

Mitchener. Hysterical ! 

Mrs. Banger. Do you think we are to be stopped by 
these childish exhibitions of temper. They are useless; 
and your tears and entreaties — a man's last resource — 
will avail you just as little. I sweep them away, just as 
I sweep your plans of campaign " made in Ger- 
many " 

Mitchener (flying into a transport of rage). How 
dare you repeat that infamous slander? (He rings the 
bell violently.) If this is the alternative to votes for 
women, I shall advocate giving every woman in the coun- 
try six votes. 

The Orderly comes in. 

Remove that woman. See that she leaves the building 
at once. 

The Orderly forlornly contemplates the iron front pre- 
sented by Mrs. Banger. 

The Orderly (propitiatorily) . Would you av the 
feelin art to step out, madam. 



32 Press Cuttings 

Mrs. Banger. You are a soldier. Obey your orders. 
Put me out. If I got such an order, I should not hesi- 
tate. 

The Orderly {To Mitchener). Would you mind 
lendin me a and, Guvner? 

Lady Corinthia {raising her revolver). I shall be 
obliged to shoot you if you stir, General. 

Mrs. Banger {To the Orderly). When you are or- 
dered to put a person out you should do it like this. 
{She hurls him from the room^ He is heard falling 
headlong downstairs and crashing through a glass door!) 
I shall now wait on General Sandstone. If he shows 
any sign of weakness, he shall share that poor wretch's 
fate. {She goes out.) 

Lady Corinthia. Isnt she magnificent? 

Mitchener. Thank heaven shes gone. And now, 
my dear lady, is it necessary to keep that loaded pistol 
to my nose all through our conversation? 

Lady Corinthia. Its not loaded. Its heavy enough, 
goodness knows, without putting bullets in it. 

Mitchener {triumphantly snatching his revolver from 
the drawer). Then I am master of the situation. This 
is loaded. Ha, ha ! 

Lady Corinthia. But since we are not really going 
to shoot one another, what difference can it possibly 
make ? 

Mitchener {putting his pistol down on the table). 
True. Quite true. I recognize there the practical good 
sense that has prevented you from falling into the snares 
of the Suffragets. 

Lady Corinthia. The Suffragets, General, are the 
dupes of dowdies. A really attractive and clever wom- 
an 

Mitchener {gallantly). Yourself, for instance. 

Lady Corinthia {snatching up his revolver). An- 
other step and you are a dead man. 



Press Cuttings 33 

Mil jhener (amazed). My dear lady! 

t .aDY Corinthia. I am not your dear lady. You 
a s not the first man who has concluded that because 
I am devoted to music and can reach F flat with the 
greatest facility — Patti never got above E flat — I am 
marked out as the prey of every libertine. You think 
I am like the thousands of weak women whom you have 
ruined 



Mitchener. I solemnly protest 

Lady Corinthia. Oh, I know what you officers are. 
To you a woman's honor is nothing, and the idle pleasure 
of the moment is everything. 

Mitchener. This is perfectly ridiculous. I never 
ruined anyone in my life. 

Lady Corinthia. Never ! Are you in earnest ? 

Mitchener. Certainly I am in earnest. Most in- 
dignantly in earnest. 

Lady Corinthia (throwing down the pistol contemp- 
tuously). Then you have no temperament; you are not 
an artist. You have no soul for music. 

Mitchener. Ive subscribed to the regimental band 
all my life. I bought two sarrusophones for it out of 
my own pocket. When I sang Tosti's Goodbye for Ever 
at Knightsbridge in 1880, the whole regiment wept. 
You are too young to remember that. 

Lady Corinthia. Your advances are useless. I 

Mitchener. Confound it, madam, can you not re- 
ceive an innocent compliment without suspecting me of 
dishonorable intentions ? 

Lady Corinthia. Love — real love — makes all inten- 
tions honorable. But you could never understand that. 

Mitchener. Ill not submit to the vulgar penny- 
novelette notion that an officer is less honorable than a 
civilian in his relations with women. While I live 111 
raise my voice- 



Lady Corinthia. Tush! 



34 Press Cuttings 

Mitchener. What da you mean by tush? 

Lady Corinthia. You cant raise your voice above 
its natural compass. What sort of voice have you? 

Mitchener. A tenor. WTiat sort had you? 

Lady Corinthia. Had? I have it still. I tell you 
I am the highest living soprano. (Scornfully.) What 
was your highest note, pray? 

Mitchener. B flat — once — in 1879. I was drunk 
at the time. 

Lady Corinthia (gazing at him almost tenderly). 
Though you may not believe me, I find you are more 
interesting when you talk about music than when you 
are endeavoring to betray a woman who has trusted you 
by remaining alone with you in your apartment. 

Mitchener (springing up and fuming away to the 
fireplace). These repeated insults to a man of blameless 
life are as disgraceful to you as they are undeserved by 
me, Lady Corinthia. Such suspicions invite the conduct 
they impute. (She raises the pistol.) You need not be 
alarmed: I am only going to leave the room. 

Lady Corinthia. Fish. 

Mitchener. Fish! This is worse than tush. Why 
fish? 

Lady Corinthia. Yes, fish: coldblooded fish. 

Mitchener. Dash it all, madam, do you want me to 
make advances to you? 

Lady Corinthia. I have not the slightest intention 
of yielding to them ; but to make them would be a tribute 
to romance. What is life without romance? 

Mitchener (making a movement toward her). I 
tell you 

Lady Corinthia. Stop. No nearer. No vulgar 
sensuousness. If you must adore, adore at a distance. 

Mitchener. This is worse than Mrs. Banger. I 
shall ask that estimable woman to come back. 

Lady Corinthia. Poor Mrs. Banger! Do not for a 



Press Cuttings 35 

moment suppose, General Mitchener, that Mrs. Banger 
represents my views on the suffrage question. Mrs. 
Banger is a man in petticoats. I am every inch a 
woman; but I find it convenient to work with her. 

Mitchexer. Do you find the combination com- 
fortable ? 

Lady Corinthia. I do not wear combinations, Gen- 
eral: (with dignity) they are unwomanly. 

Mitchener (throwing himself despairingly into the 
chair next the hearthrug). I shall go mad. I never for 
a moment dreamt of alluding to anything of the sort. 

Lady Corinthia. There is no need to blush and be- 
come self-conscious at the mention of underclothing. 
You are extremely vulgar, General. 

Mitchener. Lady Corinthia: you have my pistol. 
Will you have the goodness to blow my brains out. I 
should prefer it to any further effort to follow the gyra- 
tions of the weathercock you no doubt call your mind. 
If you refuse, then I warn you that youll not get another 
word out of me — not if we sit here until doomsday. 

Lady Corinthia. I dont want you to talk. I want 
you to listen. You do not yet understand my views on 
the question of the Suffrage. (She rises to make a 
speech.) I must preface my remarks by reminding you 
that the Suffraget movement is essentially a dowdy move- 
ment. The suffragets are not all dowdies ; but they are 
mainly supported by dowdies. Now I am not a dowdy. 
Oh, no compliments 

Mitchener. I did not utter a sound. 

Lady Corinthia (smiling). It is easy to read your 
thoughts. I am one of those women who are accustomed 
to rule the world through men. Man is ruled by beauty, 
by charm. The men who are not have no influence. The 
Salic Law, which forbade women to occupy a throne, is 
founded on the fact that when a woman is on the throne 
the country is ruled by men, and therefore ruled badly ; 



36 Press Cuttings 

whereas when a man is on the throne, the country is 
ruled by women, and therefore ruled well. The suf- 
fragets would degrade women from being rulers to being 
voters, mere politicians, the drudges of the caucus and 
the polling booth. We should lose our influence com- 
pletely under such a state of affairs. The New Zealand 
women have the vote. What is the result ? No poet ever 
makes a New Zealand woman his heroine. One might as 
well be romantic about New Zealand mutton. Look at 
the suffragets themselves. The only ones who are popu- 
lar are the pretty ones, who flirt with mobs as ordinary 
women flirt with officers. 

Mitchener. Then I understand you to hold that the 
country should be governed by the women after all. 

Lady Corinthia. Not by all the women. By certain 
women. I had almost said by one woman. By the 
women who have charm — who have artistic talent — who 
wield a legitimate, a refining influence over the men. 
(She sits down gracefully, smiling, and arranging her 
draperies with conscious elegance.) 

Mitchener. In short, madam, you think that if you 
give the vote to the man, you give the power to the 
women who can get round the man. 

Lady Corinthia. That is not a very delicate way of 
putting it; but I suppose that is how you would express 
what I mean. 

Mitchener. Perhaps youve never had any experi- 
ence of garrison life. If you had, you'd have noticed that 
the sort of woman who is clever at getting round men is 
sometimes rather a bad lot. 

Lady Corinthia. What do you mean by a bad lot? 

Mitchener. I mean a woman who would play the 
very devil if the other women didnt keep her in pretty 
strict order. I dont approve of democracy, because its 
rot; and Im against giving the vote to women because 
Im not accustomed to it and therefore am able to see 



Press Cuttings 37 

with an unprejudiced eye what infernal nonsense it is. 
But I tell you plainly, Lady Corinthia, that there is one 
game that I dislike more than either Democracy or Votes 
For Women: and that is the game of Antony and Cleo- 
patra. If I must be ruled by women, let me have decent 
women and not — well, not the other sort. 

Lady Corinthia. You have a coarse mind, General 
Mitchener. 

Mitchener. So has Mrs. Banger. And by George! 
I prefer Mrs. Banger to you! 

Lady Corinthia (bounding to her feet.) You prefer 
Mrs. Banger to me! ! ! 

Mitchener. I do. You said yourself she was 
splendid. 

Lady Corinthia. You are no true man. You are one 
of those unsexed creatures who have no joy in life, no 
sense of beauty, no high notes. 

Mitchener. No doubt I am, Madam. As a matter 
of fact, I am not clever at discussing public questions, 
because, as an English gentleman, I was not brought up 
to use my brains. But occasionally, after a number of 
remarks which are perhaps sometimes rather idiotic, I 
get certain convictions. Thanks to you, I have now got 
a conviction that this woman question is not a question 
of lovely and accomplished females, but of dowdies. The 
average Englishwoman is a dowdy and never has half 
a chance of becoming anything else. She hasnt any 
charm; and she has no high notes except when shes giv- 
ing her husband a piece of her mind, or calling down the 
street for one of the children. 

Lady Corinthia. How disgusting ! 

Mitchener. Somebody must do the dowdy work ! 
If we had to choose between pitching all the dowdies 
into the Thames and pitching all the lovely and accom- 
plished women, the lovely ones would have to go. 

Lady Corinthia. And if vou had to do without 



38 Press Cuttings 

Wagner's music or do without your breakfast, you would 
do without Wagner. Pray does that make eggs and ba- 
con more precious than music, or the butcher and baker 
better than the poet and philosopher ? The scullery may 
be more necessary to our bare existence than the cathe- 
dral. Even humbler apartments might make the same 
claim. But which is the more essential to the higher 
life? 

Mitchener. Your arguments are so devilishly in- 
genious that I feel convinced you got them out of some 
confounded book. Mine — such as they are — are my own. 
I imagine its something like this. There is an old say- 
ing that if you take care of the pence, the pounds will 
take care of themselves. Well, perhaps if we take care 
of the dowdies and the butchers and the bakers, the 
beauties and the bigwigs will take care of themselves. 
(Rising and facing her determinedly.) Anyhow, I dont 
want to have things arranged for me by Wagner. Im 
not Wagner. How does he know where the shoe pinches 
me? How do you know where the shoe pinches your 
washerwoman? — you and your high F in alt. How are 
you to know when you havent made her comfortable 
unless she has a vote? Do you want her to come and 
break your windows? 

Lady Corinthia. Am I to understand that General 
Mitchener is a democrat and a suffraget? 

Mitchener. Yes: you have converted me — you and 
Mrs. Banger. 

Lady Corinthia. Farewell, creature. (Balsquith 
enters hurriedly.) Mr. Balsquith: I am going to wait 
on General Sandstone. He at least is an officer and a 
gentleman. (She sails out.) 

Balsquith. Mitchener: the game is up. 

Mitchener. What do you mean? 

Balsquith. The strain is too much for the Cabinet. 
The old Liberal and Unionist Free Traders declare that 



Press Cuttings 39 

if they are defeated on their resolution to invite tenders 
from private contractors for carrying on the Army and 
Navy, they will go solid for votes for women as the only 
means of restoring the liberties of the country which 
we have destroyed by compulsory military service. 

Mitchener. Infernal impudence! 

Balsquith. The Labor party is taking the same line. 
They say the men got the Factory Acts by hiding be- 
hind the women's petticoats, and that they will get votes 
for the army in the same way. 

Mitchener. Balsquith: we must not yield to clamor. 
I have just told this lady that I am at last convinced 

Balsquith {joyfully). That the suffragets must be 
supported. 

Mitchener. No: that the anti-suffragets must be 
put down at all hazards. 

Balsquith. Same thing. 

Mitchener. No. For you now tell me that the 
Labor Party demands votes for women. That makes it 
impossible to give them, because it would be yielding 
to clamor. The one condition on which we can consent 
to grant anything in this country is that nobody shall 
presume to want it. 

Balsquith {earnestly). Mitchener: its no use. You 
cant have the conveniences of Democracy without its 
occasional inconveniences. 

Mitchener. What are its conveniences, I should 
like to know? 

Balsquith. When you tell people that they are the 
real rulers and they can do what they like, nine times 
out of ten, they say, ** All right, tell us what to do." 
But it happens sometimes that they get an idea of their 
own; and then of course youre landed. 

Mitchener. Sh 

Balsquith {desperately shouting him down). No: 
its no use telling me to shoot them down: Im not going 



40 Press Cuttings 

to do it. After all, I dont suppose votes for women 
will make much difference. It hasnt in the other coun- 
tries in which it has been tried. 

Mitchener. I never supposed it would make much 
difference. What I cant stand is giving in to that 
Pankhurst lot. Hang it all, Balsquith, it seems only 
yesterday that we put them in quod for a month. I 
said at the time that it ought to have been ten years. 
If my advice had been taken this wouldnt have hap- 
pened. Its a consolation to me that events are proving 
how thoroughly right I was. 

The Orderly rushes in. 

The Orderly. Look ere, sir: Mrs. Banger locked 
the door of General Sandstone's room on the inside; and 
shes sitting on his ead until he signs a proclamation for 
women to serve in the army. 

Mitchener. Put your shoulder to the door and burst 
it open. 

The Orderly. Its only in story books that doors 
burst open as easy as that. Besides, Im only too thank- 
ful to have a locked door between me and Mrs. B. ; and 
so is all the rest of us. 

Mitchener. Cowards. Balsquith: to the rescue! 
{He dashes out.) 

Balsquith (ambling calmly to the hearth). This is 
the business of the Sergeant at Arms rather than of the 
leader of the House. Theres no use in my tackling Mrs. 
Banger : she would only sit on my head too. 

The Orderly. You take my tip, Mr. Balsquith. 
Give the women the vote and give the army civil rights ; 
and av done with it. 

Mitchener returns. 

Mitchener. Balsquith: prepare to hear the worst. 

Balsquith. Sandstone is no more? 

Mitchener. On the contrary, he is particularly 
lively. He has softened Mrs. Banger by a proposal of 



Press Cuttings 41 

marriage in which he appears to be perfectly in earnest. 
He says he has met his ideal at last, a really soldierly 
woman. She will sit on his head for the rest of his life ; 
and the British Army is now to all intents and purposes 
commanded by Mrs. Banger. When I remonstrated with 
Sandstone she positively shouted " Right-about-face. 
March " at me in the most offensive one. If she hadnt 
been a woman I should have punched her head. I 
precious nearly punched Sandstone's. The horrors of 
martial law administered by Mrs. Banger are too terrible 
to be faced. I demand civil rights for the army. 

The Orderly (chuckling). Wot oh, General! Wot 
oh! 

Mitchener. Hold your tongue. (He goes to the 
door and calls,) Mrs. Farrell! (Returning, and again 
addressing the Orderly.) Civil rights don't mean the 
right to be uncivil. (Pleased with his own wit.) Almost 
a pun. Ha ha ! 

Mrs. Farrell. Whats the matther now? She comes 
to the table.) 

Mitchener (to the Orderly). I have private busi- 
ness with Mrs. Farrell. Outside, you infernal black- 
guard. 

The Orderly (arguing, as usual). Well, I didnt 
ask to — (Mitchener seizes him by the nape; rushes 
him out; and slams the door). 

Mitchener. Excuse the abruptness of this commu- 
nication, Mrs. Farrell; but I know only one woman in 
the country whose practical ability and force of charac- 
ter can maintain her husband in competition with the 
husband of Mrs. Banger. I have the honor to propose 
for your hand. 

Mrs. Farrell. Dye mean you want to marry me? 

Mitchener. I do. 

Mrs. Farrell. No thank you. Id have to work for 
you just the same; only I shouldnt get any wages for it. 



42 Press Cuttings 

Balsquith. That will be remedied when women get 
the vote. Ive had to promise that. 

Mitchener (winningly). Mrs. Farrell: you have 
been charwoman here now ever since I took up my duties. 
Have you really never, in your more romantic moments, 
cast a favorable eye on my person? 

Mrs. Farrell. Ive been too busy casting an unfa- 
vorable eye on your cloze and on the litther you make 
with your papers. 

Mitchener (wounded). Am I to understand that 
you refuse me? 

Mrs. Farrell. Just wait a bit. (She takes Mitch- 
ener 9 s chair and rings up the telephone.) Double three 
oh seven Elephant. 

Mitchener. I trust youre not ringing for the police, 
Mrs. Farrell. I assure you Im perfectly sane. 

Mrs. Farrell (into the telephone). Is that you, 
Eliza? (She listens for the answer.) Not out of bed 
yet ! Go and pull her out by the heels, the lazy sthreel ; 
and tell her her mother wants to speak to her very par- 
ticularly about General Mitchener. (To Mitchener.) 
Dont you be afeard: I know youre sane enough when 
youre not talkin about the Germans. (Into the tele- 
phone.) Is that you, Eliza? (She listens for the an- 
swer.) Dye remember me givin you a clout on the side 
of the head for tellin me that if I only knew how to play 
me cards I could marry any general on the staff instead 
o disgracin you be bein a charwoman? (She listens for 
the answer.) Well, I can have General Mitchener with- 
out playing any cards at all. What dye think I ought 
to say? (She listens.) Well, Im no chicken myself. 
(To Mitchener.) How old are you? 

Mitchener (with an effort). Fifty-two. 

Mrs. Farrell (into the telephone). He says hes 
fifty-two. (She listens; then, to Mitchener.) She says 
youre down in Who's Who as sixty-one. 



Press Cuttings 43 

Mitchener. Damn Who's Who. 

Mrs. Farrell (into the telephone). Anyhow I 
wouldnt let that stand in the way. (She listens.) If 
I really what? (She listens.) I cant hear you. If I 
really what? (She listens.) Who druv him? I never 
said a word to — Eh? (She listens.) Oh, love him. 
Arra dont be a fool, child. (To Mitchener.) She wants 
to know do I really love you. (Into the telephone.) Its 
likely indeed Id frighten the man off with any such non- 
sense at my age. What? (She listens.) Well, thats 
just what I was thinkin. 

Mitchener. May I ask what you were thinking, 
Mrs. Farrell? This suspense is awful. 

Mrs. Farrell. I was thinkin that perhaps the 
Duchess might like her daughter-in-law's mother to be 
a General's lady betther than to be a charwoman. (Into 
the telephone.) Waitle youre married yourself, me fine 
lady: you'll find out that every woman is a charwoman 
from the day shes married. (She listens.) Then you 
think I might take him? (She listens.) Glang, you 
young scald: if I had you here Id teach you manners. 
(She listens.) Thats enough now. Back wid you to 
bed; and be thankful Im not there to put me slipper 
across you. (She rings off.) The impudence! (To 
Mitchener.) Bless you, me childher, may you be happy, 
she says. (To Balsquith, going to his side of the room.) 
Give dear old Mich me love, she says. 

The Orderly opens the door, ushering in Lady 
Corinthia. 

The Orderly. Lady Corinthia Fanshawe to speak 
to you, sir. 

Lady Corinthia. General Mitchener: your designs 
on Mrs. Banger are defeated. She is engaged to Gen- 
eral Sandstone. Do you still prefer her to me? 

Mrs. Farrell. Hes out o the hunt. Hes engaged 
to me. 



44 Press Cuttings 

The Orderly overcome by this news reels from the 
door to the standing desk, and clutches the stool to save 
himself from collapsing. 

Mitchener. And extremely proud of it, Lady Co- 
rinthia. 

Lady Corinthia (contemptuously). She suits you 
exactly. (Coming to Balsquith.) Mr. Balsquith: you at 
least, are not a Philistine. 

Balsquith. No, Lady Corinthia; but Im a eon- 
firmed bachelor. I don't want a wife; but I want an 
Egeria. 

Mrs. Farrell. More shame for you. 

Lady Corinthia. Silence, woman. The position and 
functions of a wife may suit your gross nature. An 
Egeria is exactly what I desire to be. (To Balsquith.) 
Can you play accompaniments? 

Balsquith. Melodies only, I regret to say. With 
one finger. But my brother, who is a very obliging fel- 
low, and not unlike me personally, is acquainted with 
three chords, with which he manages to accompany most 
of the comic songs of the day. 

Lady Corinthia. I do not sing comic songs. 
Neither will you when I am your Egeria. Come. I give 
a musical at-home this afternoon. I will allow you to sit 
at my feet. 

Balsquith. That is my ideal of romantic happiness. 
It commits me exactly as far as I desire to venture. 
Thank you. 

The Orderly. Wot price me, General? Wont you 
celebrate your engagement by doing something for me? 
Maynt I be promoted to be a sergeant. 

Mitchener. Youre too utterly incompetent to dis- 
charge the duties of a sergeant. You are only fit to be 
a lieutenant. I shall recommend you for a commission. 

The Orderly. Hooray! The Parkinsons of Step- 
ney will be proud to have me call on them now. Ill go 



Press Cuttings 45 

and tell the sergeant what I think of him. Hooray! 
(He rushes out.) 

Mrs. Farrell (going to the door and calling after 
him.) You might have the manners to shut the door 
afther you. (She shuts it and comes between Mitchener 
and Lady Corinthia.) 

Mitchener. Poor wretch; the day after civil rights 
are conceded to the army he and Chubbs-Jenkinson will 
be found incapable of maintaining discipline. They will 
be sacked and replaced by really capable men. Mrs. 
Farrell: as we are engaged, and I am anxious to do the 
correct thing in every way, I am quite willing to kiss you 
if you wish it. 

Mrs. Farrell. Youd only feel like a fool; and so 
would I. 

Mitchener. You are really the most sensible woman. 
Ive made an extremely wise choice. 

Lady Corinthia (To Balsquith). You may kiss my 
hand, if you wish. 

Balsquith (cautiously). I think we had better not 
commit ourselves too far. If I might carry your parasol, 
that would quite satisfy me. Let us change a subject 
which threatens to become embarrassing. (To Mitch- 
ener.) The moral of the occasion for you, Mitchener, 
appears to be that youve got to give up treating soldiers 
as if they were schoolboys. 

Mitchener. The moral for you, Balsquith, is that 
youve got to give up treating women as if they were an- 
gels. Ha ha! 

Mrs. Farrell. Its a mercy youve found one another 
out at last. That's enough now. 

curtain 



fliov 13 \m 



Qz 



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